


a view of home

by jeepsarmitage



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeepsarmitage/pseuds/jeepsarmitage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "She’d gotten lost. She’d gotten lost and lost herself but it’s okay because you’d found her. You’d found her and she was home and it was going to be okay." </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or the one where Carmilla is a painter</p>
            </blockquote>





	a view of home

**Author's Note:**

> Human AU thing

You got married shortly after graduation. 

 

It was a small wedding; your father and the few friends you held onto during those complicated few years at college. You hadn’t kept in touch with any of your high school friends. Not that it bothered you, really, because the friends you do have have _literally_ risked their lives for you and you wouldn’t trade them for the world. But seeing the small group gathered in the small church made you wonder what your life would be like if you hadn’t gone to Silas.

 

Different, definitely. Better? Very unlikely. 

 

You wouldn’t have met Carmilla, after all, and knowing her for the short time you did is better than nothing, right?

 

* * *

 

You honeymoon in France, because Carmilla wanted to see it and you’d never been. Neither of you could read a map, though, and so more often than not you got lost. Not that Carmilla ever actually admitted that you were lost, and after the first three times she vehemently shut you down you started to just follow her around and pretend that you weren’t noticing that she was pulling all the facts out of her ass. 

 

The face that she pulled when she noticed that a place was no longer there was adorable enough to keep you silent. 

 

Eventually Carmilla gets tired of touring the country, though. ( _“Why is it so busy? Where did all these people come from? We need a new plague.”)_ So the two of you settle into a villa on the countryside. The scenery is gorgeous, but you spend most of your time indoors; your naked body loosely covered in bed sheets and your soul drowning in Carmilla. 

 

Her scent engulfed you, and you got accustomed to waking up to an arm thrown carelessly over your torso and a dark head of hair buried into your chest. It made you smile, and you never rushed getting out of bed. When your dark-haired princess eventually wakes you usually don’t get out of bed anyway. 

 

(she had a bad impact on your sleep schedule but you can’t say you didn’t get your workouts in)

 

* * *

 

Carmilla did a lot of painting when you weren’t in bed together. 

 

You’re glad, because she’s at her most beautiful when she’s painting. More often than not you would sit off to the side, watching the way her entire body relaxed as she gave herself entirely to the art. She never noticed and so you watched in silence, wrapped up in a think blanket and a mug of cocoa in your hands, a smiling playing at your lips as you fell more and more in love with the woman. 

 

Sometimes she did notice, and she would narrow her eyes at you until you left. You would always return though, sitting in the same spot off to the side with your blanket and your cocoa as you watched your wife get absorbed in the artwork that now hung proudly on your wall.

 

(You look at it sometimes, when you’re at your most nostalgic, and the memories make you smile through your tears)

 

* * *

 

_“I’m going shopping.”_

 

_“But babe…”_

 

_“We need to eat something other than each other if we want to survive!”_

 

_“Ugh, fine.”_

 

* * *

 

You shouldn’t have left the villa. If you hadn’t, maybe none of this would have happened. 

 

* * *

 

You’re in town when it hits. The ground starts shaking; softly at first, and then faster and more violent. When you realise what’s happening you run out of the shop, but the road has been shut off and you get pushed back. 

 

“But I need to get to my wife!” 

 

“Sorry ma’am,” the police officer replies, his accent thick and english minimal, “you have to wait.”

 

You aren’t impressed, but you know there’s nothing you can do. 

 

You sit and wait. 

 

* * *

 

The villa that you had been staying in was completely destroyed. 

 

You get driven back by a policeman who looks at you with sad eyes as he drives you down the dirt-road driveway. He says something to you as he stops the car, and you have to tear your eyes away from what used to be such the beautiful villa but is now a pile of rubble so that you can focus on what he is saying. 

 

“We can’t go any closer.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Too dangerous. The emergency team will find what’s left of your possessions.”

 

“But what about Carmilla?!”

 

“They already searched. They didn’t find your friend.”

 

“My wife.” You correct him, looking out the window again. “She’s my wife.”

 

* * *

 

Time moves slowly. 

 

Your dad moves into your spare room because he’s afraid you’re going to starve to death. Or worse. You wouldn’t do that though. Couldn’t. You just sit on the sofa and stare at the wall, only vaguely noticing the comings and going of your friends. 

 

You don’t really know what to do with yourself, anyway. 

 

You don’t know how to live without her. 

 

* * *

 

Maybe if they’d found a body it would be easier. 

 

At least then you’d have real answers. 

 

* * *

 

“Laura you need to go out.”

 

“No.”

 

“Just go out with LaF. Come on, they’re waiting out the front. Just spend an hour with them and then you can do whatever you want.”

 

You go, but you don’t really remember what you did. You remember LaF was treating you weirdly, like you’d break if they said the wrong thing. You can’t really blame them though, because part of you thinks you’re about to break anyway. 

 

Still, you’re glad they put in the effort for you. 

 

If only you could put in the same effort for yourself. 

 

* * *

 

_“what are you painting?”_

 

_“A picture.”_

 

_You roll your eyes, but smile anyway and try and peek around to see the canvas._

 

_“What’s it a picture of?”_

 

_“The view.”_

 

_You smack Carmilla in the arm playfully but she just shrugs. She isn’t going to budge and you know it, so you take a seat on the grass across from her and watch her while she paints._

 

_“Will you show me when it’s finished?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

 

_“Are you going to give it a title?”_

 

_Carmilla pauses, biting on her lower lip as her brow furrows in thought._

 

_“A view,” she says after a while. You throw a bunch of grass at her and she ducks out of the way, laughing as you yell at her for being stubborn and annoying._

 

_“Maybe one day I’ll show you, cupcake. But only if you play nice_.” 

 

* * *

 

When the package arrives in the mail, your dad opens it. You don't pay it any attention until he gives it to you at breakfast one morning. 

 

“You should look at it,” he says before leaving the room. His behaviour confuses you, and you take the package in your hands and flip it over to read the return address. ‘

 

As soon as you see the country of origin you tear through the packaging. 

 

Your own face stares back at you in a colourful mixture of oil paints, and as your eyes skim over the neat cursive in the bottom corner you feel the tears run wet tracks down your cheeks. 

 

_“A view. CK”_

 

* * *

 

You pick yourself up after that. The painting hangs in your living room and you use it as a motivator of sorts. It reminds you of who you were before, and helps you realise who you are now. 

 

It also helps you remember, and you realise you were stuck because you were terrified of forgetting. 

 

* * *

 

The years begin to pass more quickly once you regain your footing, and suddenly you're twenty-nine and once again in France. 

 

LaF and Perry live there now, and you’re invited to their third baby shower because apparently you’re the godmother of all of them and _“you have to come, Laura. You can't not come!”_

 

So you go, and as your feet hit French soil for the first time in so many years, you’re plagued with the memories of the last time you were here. A very different future in mind than the one you ended up living. 

 

 

A rush of red hair pulls you out of your thoughts and the tiny offspring of your two best friends are attached to your legs, tugging on you and yapping away about what they want to show you and “ _look how much we’ve grown, Laura!”_

 

“You’re getting so tall!” you exclaim, eyes wide in mock shock. The grins of the children make you laugh and you kneel down to wrap them up in your arms. “If you keep growing you’ll be as tall as me!”

 

“But you’re short!” The eldest replies, and you glare at him; wrinkling your face up before sticking out your tongue. 

 

“Oh shush, you.” You reply before standing up. “Now, where are your parents? I haven’t seen them in far too long!”

 

* * *

 

You see the advertisement on a light pole as you walk down the street one afternoon. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Perry? Do you still have that friend that works at the gallery?”

 

Perry looks up, surprised. “Yes dear, why?”

 

“I saw an ad for an exhibition. It looks interesting is all.”

 

“Well I could probably get you tickets. What was the artist?”

 

“There wasn’t a name. Will the exhibition name do?”

 

* * *

 

You walk around anxiously, hands gripping tightly on the exhibition directory. There’s a very strong possibility you’ve officially lost your mind, but you hold onto the tiny bit of hope that maybe this was the light at the end of the tunnel. 

 

* * *

 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

 

You turn, _“it’s fine,”_ half spoke when your eyes widen and you think that maybe you need to sit down. 

 

* * *

 

“I painted you because that’s all that I could see when they asked me to picture home.”

 

You were laying in Perry and Lafontaine’s guest bedroom, loosely covered by the sheets and drowning in Carmilla. 

 

“What happened?”

 

“I don’t know.” She shook her head and you felt her arm tighten around your shoulders. She sighed. “I woke up and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know where I was or who I was or what had just happened. An old man took me in. They said an earthquake had happened and it was bad. That I’d probably hit my head and that my memory would come back eventually.”

 

“But it didn’t.”

 

She shook her head. 

 

“All I could remember was you, but when I showed people the paintings, no one recognised you.”

 

“Well I’m here now.” You kiss her softly and she smiles under you. “You’re here, and I’m here and it’s going to be alright.”

 

* * *

 

She’d gotten lost. She’d gotten lost and lost herself but it’s okay because you’d found her. You’d found her and she was home and it was going to be okay. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know what you think!


End file.
